


Danger Wolf

by Thadeus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thadeus/pseuds/Thadeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escaping danger, Stiles and Derek run into some rather not good complications.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Wolf

They blasted across the forest floor, spitting up a swarm of leaves and mud spatter, Derek's feet barely touching the ground before flying upwards and slamming down for another assault. He could feel the light weight of Stiles on his back, could smell a drop of cold sweat as it fell from Stiles' chin and was swept away in the torrent of wind that surrounded their escape.

“Hang on!” Derek shouted as the arms around his neck, so tight he could almost feel the liquid rushing through the veins, suddenly began to loosen.

And then the weight was gone.

Derek skidded to a stop, tumbling to his knees, then immediately scrambled up, spun around and darted his eyes over the path he'd ripped through the foliage. A blob of red hoodie and jeans lay a few feet back, unmoving. Derek rushed to it, dropping to his knees.

“Stiles!”

“Let's never do that again,” came the mumbled, dazed reply.

Derek almost smiled, flooded with relief. And then he spotted the dark spot on the hoodie, as he scented a familiar tang. “You're hurt,” he said, accusingly.

“Falling off a werewolf at 60 miles an hour'll do that,” Stiles muttered.

Derek frowned. “That wasn't from the fall.” Stiles opened his mouth to talk, to no doubt engaged Derek in a ridiculous story that definitely didn't happen, but Derek cut him off, eyes flashing red. “Did they bite you?”

“What? Don't be ridiculous,” Stiles said, unconvincingly. “Look, it's just a scratch. It doesn't even hurt. Can we just-” Derek grabbed his arm, so tight that Stiles thought it might snap, and flipped Stiles face down onto the ground, pinning him. When Derek's hand starting pulling up the hem of Stiles' shirt, Stiles' face went red and he started to flail. “Woah, woah, there! What're you doing? Stop that, I am not that kind of girl!” His voice may have cracked, but he'd never admit it.

“Hold still, you idiot,” Derek demanded, “I just want to look at your wound.”

“We can do that later,” Stiles insisted, “You know. When we don't have a crazy Alpha chasing us?”

“There won't be a later for you if you die of bloodloss. Plus, he can probably smell you for miles.”

“Greeeat.”

The wound was four jagged claw marks, deep enough to scar. Derek pulled a roll of gauze and a bottle of water out of his jacket. He set to work.

Stiles squirmed miserably. He wanted to see what was going on and one of the leaves was partly shoved up his nose. “You know...” he started, “This is kinda kinky.”

“Shut-up Stiles.”

“Usually I'd make you buy me dinner first. I guess you're just special.”

“SHUT UP.”

It took less time than Derek anticipated, and only half the time that Stiles thought it did.

“You should be okay until we can get you to the Hospital,” Derek explained.

Stiles held back a sigh. “Time for another wolfy run of tripping through the forest fantastic?”

“It not great for me either, you know. The blood is messing with my senses.” Derek flashed a handful of razor claws. “I should really just eat you and get it over with.”

Stiles shrugged unfazed, and held his arms out to the sides, offering.

Derek rolled his eyes, scoffed, “Just get over h-”

The werewolf caught them off-guard, leaping between a pair of overhanging pines, and tackling Derek to the ground. The pair skidded a good six feet, ripping up moss and mud. There was snarling and blood, as claws tore into Derek's shoulder. Derek howled, enraged, kicking out and sending the beast flying back, but it did a flip and recovered easily.

They circled each other, Derek and this flashy silver werewolf, growls blending together as Derek's claws and teeth grew, fur glistening, eyes glowing a brilliant red.

Stiles let out a squeak, and scrambled up the branches of the nearest tree, his mind racing. Ha! Yes! Wolves can't climb trees! Oh, yeh, right, werewolves, Stilinski. Freakin' werewolves.

Derek made the first move, diving forward with a gnash of his teeth. The silver werewolf ducked to the side, but was surprised with a second attack at lightning speed, planting Derek's claws into it's ribs and sending it sprawling hard to the right and connecting solidly within the outstretched arms of a pine tree. The beast turned, uttering an angered growl, and struck a paw across Derek's face. Derek spun, landing in the dirt. He tried to pull himself back up, but the werewolf struck him again, and then lifted Derek's body up and flung him like a chew toy.

Derek landed on the ground, breathing heavy, willing his arms to move and silently cursing them when they didn't as the silver werewolf got closer. It bent towards Derek, howled in his face, all teeth and saliva and smelling of victory. It demorphed slowly, savouring it, revealing an entirely unimpressive, average-looking man. On the short side, with thick grey hair and no more than perhaps 35 years old. He bared a too-wide grin of perfect teeth at the sudden shock on Derek's face, and his nostrils flared when he opened his mouth to speak.

Before he got one word out, he was distracted by something small and solid connecting with his cheek. He raised a thin hand upwards and fingered the light puff of blood that emerged. He turned away from Derek, and was almost surprised to see Stiles, terrified and determined, sitting about ten feet up into a tree, cradling a handful of rocks.

“Yeh that's right,” Stiles catcalled, inwardly wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, “You want another one, b*tch?”

The man stared at Stiles for a moment, completely dumbfounded. When the second rock struck, bouncing off his forehead, the man strode forward. “That's enough of that,” he growled, his voice a thin British taunt. He dodged the third rock easily, growing out his claws, still bloody from his fight with Derek.

The lowest branch above Stiles' head was well over six feet away. He threw a few more of his rocks, none of them connecting, and then just tossed the whole handful. The rain of stones bounced off the man's shoulders and were about as effective as using a colander to boil soup.

The man looked gleefully up at Stiles, taking a deep breath in. “Pack?!” he exclaimed. The boy was crawling with scents of the Hale house, Derek and several other wolves. He laughed lightly and insincere, looking back to receive a response from the fallen Hale. But he wasn't there. “This child is P-?”

Between the man and the boy in the tree, Derek stood, wavering and bloody, a concentrated fierceness crossing his face that wasn't there previously. The man took an unconscious step back. The smile fell from his face as Issac and Scott entered his peripheral vision. “Well played, Hale. Well played.”

As the man turned and fled, Stiles fell out of the tree, Derek catching him easily.

“Was that one of the Alphas?” Scott asked. To Derek's nod, he scowled. “Seemed like he knew you.”

Derek nodded. “We have a history.”

Issac sniffed the air, but the Alpha was long gone. “What's his name?”

“Frederick Sales.” Derek's bitter tone stated clearly enough that more questions were not welcome.

“I am so done with werewolves,” Stiles slurred, the exhaustion and bloodloss finally getting to him. “You're just trouble, all of you.” He booped Derek on the nose, “Specially you. You're like... Danger Mouse. But like, a wolf. Danger wolf.”

“Shut-up Stiles,” Derek grumbled, “Or I'll leave you here.”

“You will not. 'Cause I am pack!”

“No you aren't.”

“Yes I am. The crazy wolf said so.”

“The crazy wolf was crazy.”

“Admit it! You like me!”

“I do not.”

“Do so. I'm special.”

“Shut-up Stiles.” And maybe Derek smiled, just a little bit. But nobody saw it, and he would never tell. If he did. Which he didn't. Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the fic I wrote for the Teen Wolf fanfiction contest :D It's been a while since I've written any fic, and I'm super-happy that my foray back into fic-writing happened with this fandom <3 ALL OF THE LOVES. Bonus points if you know who Frederick Sales is. Hint: He's canon.


End file.
